


Percy: Dream

by chucklingChemist



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - SBURB Fusion, Derse, Gen, Orthax is a Horrorterror, Percy is a Light player, mentions of torture, sburb AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16988181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucklingChemist/pseuds/chucklingChemist
Summary: Most dreamers will wake up when the game starts, in a tall tower of their dream moon. Waking up so long before isn't normal. Nor was waking up so far away from your room. Of course, Percy wasn't exactly normal.(A Sburb AU I got bouncing around in my head when I started commenting how Orthax's possession looks an awful lot like Rose's grimdark to me.)





	Percy: Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is the culmination of still being a filthy Homestuck when I started Critical Role. I built a whole AU around this for fun (that I haven't really done much with yet), and got this idea stuck in my head. If I ever feel comfortable writing Vax, I might do one for him too. Originally posted on my tumblr over at chuckling-chemist.tumblr.com

Most players dreamed in a tower. Most players were adored by the denizens of the planet, be it Prospit or Derse, and subsequently viewed as the heroes to come. Most players slept on, slumbering peacefully, or drawing their insecurities all over the walls. Eventually, they would awaken in their bedroom rested nicely on the top of a tall spire, scraping against the dark skies of the purple and gold kingdoms. Or maybe they would awaken, sleepwalking down the darkened streets of Derse or hallowed halls of Prospit. Sometimes they may not wake up at all until they need to live again, or awaken not as a mortal, but as a god.

Most players were not Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III.

When Percy first woke on Derse, it was after the brutal death of his family. Not immediately - Dr. Ripley wouldn’t even let him sleep for the longest time as she tortured him. He learned to take short rests in the in-between moments, but those were never long enough to dream. As such, he didn’t even believe that this was truly a dream and not just a vivid hallucination brought on my sleep deprivation or mental dissociative state as she had her self-described “fun” with him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. On more than one occasion he checked out completely during a particularly hellish meeting with her, only returning to reality soiled in more ways than one and in excruciating pain across his body. So really, he thought nothing of hallucinating a darkened, yet quiet and safe purple room where the only sight of the sky came from the barred windows showcasing the empty void of space beyond it, aside from if it was his own mind protecting him or Ripley waiting to pull the rug from under him.

As such, if he had to place the time, his first time he remembered waking up on Derse was probably some time between Ripley seemingly finally getting bored with him and finally escaping Castle Whitestone. The dreams of the purple prison continued, and as such, he started to work out where he was. It wasn’t the dungeons of Castle Whitestone (or some place worse), and although it was clearly a prison, it was a slight improvement…and while logically he saw no reason why he would experience repeated hallucinations of a location only marginally better, his brain had taken him worse places for less. Eventually, in whatever state of mind he was in (awake or asleep), Percy did manage to deduce one thing: when he went to sleep, he “awoke” in the prison of a planet called Derse.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. To be fair, Percy was almost certain he wasn’t truly surprised to find himself escaping to a world where the only improvement was not being ripped from his cell nightly. He sat and noted every difference from the real world, from the hallucinations Ripley gave him, even from his regular nightmares. For one, any dried blood on his body was missing. And as Percy looked down, he couldn’t help but feel a giddy warmth that he always wore silky, clean purple pajamas with a lavender crescent moon and not his tattered blue feastware from - weeks? Months? - before. And while the atmosphere was dark, he felt safer here than back in Whitestone. Even with Ripley’s most powerful potions to trick him into a false sense of safety, a small part of him always kept on edge. Something always felt wrong. Dangerous. Nothing felt wrong in Derse the way those dreams did. He sat behind bars on a purple stone floor with no greater connection to the world these dreams took him too, glad even for the brief respite this meant from the nightmare nightmares that still plagued his sleep from time to time; and worse, his waking life.

(While Percy didn’t know it at the time, Derse’s prison was a blessing in disguise as it prevented him from writing all over his tower room’s walls what was done to him in excruciating detail. He wouldn’t discover this until after he stumbled upon Vex’ahlia’s room, years later.)

Sometimes, when he dreamed, the carapacians - odd looking creatures in all black that reminded Percy somewhat of a chess piece - guarding the prison would talk. Talk of their adoration of the resting Hero of Mind and the restless Hero of Time, and what terrible luck managed to befall the Hero of Light, but the Black Queen (Percy resisted groaning at the name, for fear of arousing attention) insisted on his fate before he awoke. They spoke of the daily politics of this planet, of Derse, and of escalating tensions with Prospit. Sometimes, they would speak in hushed whispers of an eclipse in the future. All information Percy had no immediate use for, but he tucked it away all the same, just in case.

As he eventually found himself out of Whitestone’s prison and running far away, so too did he eventually want to leave Derse’s. The idea of non-carapacians on this planet(?) intrigued him, and the apparent danger of this eclipse and the horrific beings supposedly surrounding it fascinated him. But with his resources as limited as they were, all attempts only ended in catastrophic failure. He wouldn’t truly injure himself, in the real or dream world, but he’d always awake with a sudden jolt and the usual feeling of getting no sleep, waking violently and in whatever inn he used for sleeping quarters that night.

The rest of his spare time in his dreams of Derse were used to calculate the days until that eclipse. And with his previous calculations (he really had far too much spare time here), this dream world seemed to pass time much like the real world, so as such he determined the correct time of the lunar eclipse: 2:30 p.m. in Tal’Dorei time. As such, he knew he shouldn’t have been in his purple prison cell when the eclipse passed, but rather wide awake in whatever dingy inn he resided in that day in his trek south. Yet here he was, 2:30 p.m. and apparently fast asleep at wherever-he-was Tal'Dorei and dreaming of a lunar eclipse.

At first he didn’t understand why the carapacians spoke of it with such concern. From his limited vantage of the singular window, the already dim streets - what little he could see of them - appeared no darker. Some carapacians walked around, but the visible streets were fairly empty. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then he heard it. A whisper at first, almost like a quiet lullaby.

_(Little human would like revenge, yes?)_

Percy blinked. Revenge? Of course. He couldn’t imagine who wouldn’t want revenge after watching your whole family brutally murdered. He nodded, whispering affirmation towards the voice in his head, unsure if such an answer could get to whatever creature spoke.

_(You dream on the correct moon, little human. And at the correct time, no less. I can assist. For a price, of course.)_

Percy frowned. He couldn’t see how such an agreement would help him. He already tested, and nothing so far had affected Tal’Dorei. But at the same time, since it was a dream, saying yes could at least give brief catharsis. “What….who are you?” The answer wasn’t going to affect his decision, but he had to know.

 _(Ignorance from a Hero of Light!)_ The creature laughed darkly, a sound that left Percy feeling cold despite the fully covering pajamas. _(I am from the middle ring of the Noble Circle. My true name is unpronounceable in your tongue.)_ At this moment there was a pause, and if whatever was in his head was capable of grinning, Percy was certain it would. _(But you. You may call me Orthax.)_

He looked down at himself, pulling the right sleeve of his pajama shirt up to find only smooth skin. No scars from the Briarwoods, or Ripley, or anyone. Another reminder Derse was only a dream and unaffected by the real world, and thus, the real world was unaffected by here.

“Very well.”

Images flooded his head. Terrible images of smoke and darkness, of creatures larger than dragons, larger than planets, with writhing masses of tentacles that obscured several eyes and numerous beak-like mouths. Chills ran down Percy’s spine at the mere image. Bangs echoed throughout the room and rattled his eardrums. A sharp, direct pain seemed to burrow into his forehead. Distantly, he was aware his mouth was open, likely screaming, but he couldn’t be certain. Laughter once more, deeper and more bone-chilling than before, erupted in his head.

Percy awoke with a start in a hard chair, face first in his sketchbook and pencil still in hand. He jerked his head around wildly, finding dark browns and whites in his room, not purples and blacks. For the first time, he was glad to be alone in a cheap inn and not back there, imprisoned but safe.

“It’s just a dream,” he told himself, forcing his breathing to slow. How did he even fall asleep? He had apparently been working. “Just another dream of Derse.” He rolled up his sleeves to find the scars Ripley left, sighing in relief. And nothing more, he added silently. But still, what the creature - “Orthax” - had said, it wasn’t wrong. He did want revenge. Even if it was on his own. Running away was never going to make him feel better. It wouldn’t stop the night terrors where he sleepwalked in his dream cell while frantically calling for help in real life. Running away only allowed those people to continue wreaking havoc.

At roughly 5 p.m. that night, Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III designed his first gun.


End file.
